


there's a star for everyone

by blueblueelectricblue



Series: a star spinning in orbit, lighting up the sky [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Accidents, And discarding the rest as I see fit, Diapers, Hurt/Comfort, I'm just picking and choosing from various movies that came after Winter Soldier, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play, Wetting, Yeah so this is nowhere near canon-compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 10:26:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18636268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueblueelectricblue/pseuds/blueblueelectricblue
Summary: Thanksgiving is fine, even though Steve and Bucky spend it in New York. The rest? Not so much. Featuring a mountain of food, a legit temper tantrum, JARVIS being as helpful as ever, and a long drive home. (Also, the word "nope," like, a million times.) But all's well that ends well, and it ends with some pretty cool toys.(Or, the one where Steve tries too hard to be a grown-up and it backfires.)





	there's a star for everyone

It’s a real shame that Mrs. Wilson gets called away to Madripoor on State Department business at the last moment, because Steve had really been looking forward to spending Thanksgiving at her house. He and Bucky had had such a great time last year, not only because she’s an incredible cook, but also because Sam’s family is just really fun to be around. But because she’s not hosting, his two sisters are heading to their in-laws’ houses for the holiday, which leaves them with no plans.

Well…until Tony finds out. How, Steve doesn’t know, but he strongly suspects that it’s payback for something, from someone. And he _will_ find out who it was.

 _Heard the news about Mrs. W. So NOW are you coming to New York for Turkey Day? You owe me the rest of that week you were supposed to spend here_ , is the text message Steve gets from Tony the Sunday before Thanksgiving, as he and Bucky are settling in for bed.

 _I don’t know,_ Steve texts back. _I think Bucky and I were going to just stay in._

_Oh, come on. You’ll have a great view of the Macy’s parade from your floor. And we’re getting dinner catered by a chef with three Michelin stars. THREE! That’s as many as you can get, you know._

_I’m well aware of the Michelin rating system, Tony. Bucky’s always watching the Cooking Channel._

_So are you coming or what? Sam already bailed on me, claiming that he has a second cousin or something in Palm Beach and he wanted to be warm in November for once._

_Let me talk to Bucky and see what he thinks._

And then Tony sends a whole string of emojis, some of which Steve’s never seen before, which means that Tony probably invented them. None of them make sense, but then, there’s a lot about the 21st century that still doesn’t make a lot of sense to Steve. He flops back down onto his pillow and sighs.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asks.

“Nothing’s _wrong_ , exactly. Tony got wind that our Thanksgiving plans fell through and now he’s bugging us to come back to New York.”

Bucky props himself up on one elbow to face Steve. “Well, it’s not like we’ve made a decision yet. I was thinking I’d just make a turkey breast and call it a day.”

“What do you think, Buck?”

“It’s up to you. I’ll go along with whatever you decide.”

Steve makes a face; he’d really been hoping Bucky would be less non-committal than this. “But I _can’t_ decide, that’s why I asked you.”

“It comes down to whether or not you think you can handle this,” he says. “I mean, the last time we were in New York, it wound up stressing you out more than we’d anticipated. But we could plan for a shorter trip this time.”

And they’d had to leave early because of him. Steve flushes with embarrassment at the memory of clinging to Bucky and begging to go home. “I guess I would be okay if we stayed for just a couple days.”

“Like, drive in on Wednesday morning and leave Saturday morning?”

“Maybe Thursday morning. We’d miss the parade, but Wednesday’s going to be a nightmare,” Steve points out. “But if we left Saturday, that’s still two days in the city, and we can avoid the holiday traffic by not waiting until Sunday to come home.”

“Who else is going to be there?”

“I dunno. Pepper, I’m sure. Bruce and Betty? He mentioned it in group chat last week.”

“Sam?”

“Tony said he’s going to be in Palm Beach visiting a second cousin or something.”

“Traitor. He didn’t even tell us himself?”

“I know, right? I’m gonna send him a strongly-worded reaction GIF tomorrow.”

Bucky’s quiet for a little bit. “Here’s what I think. If you think you’ll be okay, then we’ll say yes to Tony’s invitation. I'm sure it'll be nice, if kinda loud, probably. And we have our own floor that we can go back to if either one of us needs some quiet. But I want you to be absolutely sure before we tell him yes, Steve.”

“I can handle it.”

“Okay. We’ll go to Avengers Tower for Thanksgiving, then. Text him back before we change our minds, will you?”

Tony sends back a text that’s literally just several dozen thumbs-up emojis, which Steve does understand this time. Well, at least he’s enthusiastic, Steve guesses. And it’ll probably keep the “you should come and stay here, why don’t you come up here more often, we have all these great amenities and you know I built that floor just for you, did you check out the studio yet, did you, did you, _did you_?” entreaties to a minimum for a while. He hopes so, anyway.

They decide to head out of Washington early on Thanksgiving morning, Steve forgoing his morning run around the Tidal Basin and National Mall so that they can arrive before noon. The drive takes a little more than four hours, with a rest stop in southern New Jersey and an argument about their luggage. Bucky had taken it upon himself to bring along what they euphemistically refer to as the “supplies” bag (a large black duffel bag, unremarkable except for the fact that it’s brand new and for its contents), which Steve discovered at said rest stop when he went to grab his jacket from the backseat.

Steve had been taken aback at first, then furious. “Bucky, what the _fuck_?”

Bucky had shrugged. “You never know.”

“We’re only going to be here for two days! I can go two days without needing—you know.”

“Probably. But it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

“I haven’t been little in, like, ten days,” Steve hissed at him. “I’m not gonna need it now.”

Bucky lifted an eyebrow. “I’d say that’s _exactly_ why I brought the bag, Steve. Just chill out, all right? If you don’t need it, you can say ‘I told you so’ as many times as you want on the way home.”

“I wish you would trust me to know what my own needs are.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Steve. It’s not about trust, it’s about being responsible. And I’m responsible for you when you’re not an adult.”

“Well, I’m an adult _now_ and I’m not happy about this.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

At least they’re speaking to each other again by the time they get through the Lincoln Tunnel, mostly because a BMW had cut them off as they exited the turnpike and they’d both shouted creative and long-winded obscenities at the driver for nearly causing a serious car accident. Yelling at assholes has always been a good bonding activity for them. And once Steve’s parked in the Tower’s underground garage and they’re on the elevator with luggage in hand, he feels like he should apologize.

“Hey, Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry about how I acted at the rest stop. I know you’re just trying to be helpful and look out for me.”

Bucky scrubs his hand through his hair, almost as short now as it had been during the war.

It’s a good look on him, especially because he’d decided to grow out the stubble he’d acquired after Halloween into an actual moustache and beard, which he keeps impeccably groomed. It’s good to see those old pre-war habits of Bucky’s reappearing; he’d been a bit vain back then, much to his sisters’ amusement. (Steve vividly remembers the time Rebecca had switched his hair pomade with shoe polish right before a dance at the local VFW hall – and how mad Bucky had been at him for laughing at the sight of him in the immediate aftermath.) The beard isn’t so bad, either, now that Bucky’s gotten some kind of softening lotion for it.

“Thanks, Steve,” Bucky answers. “I’m sorry too. I should have told you that I was bringing it.”

“It’s okay, really. I’m glad you did. Like you said, you never know. And I’m the one who surprised you with the same thing last time we were here.”

The elevator opens to their floor, and they drop their bags in a corner of the master bedroom out of the way of foot traffic. Bucky flops down onto the ridiculously huge bed and spreads out all his limbs to stretch. He even stretches his left arm, the plates rising and falling back into place with liquid precision. It’s fascinating to watch, until Steve decides he would also like to be on the bed, because he is tired and he recollects that it’s extremely comfortable.

“Move over,” he complains.

“Oh, why, did you want to lie down too?” Bucky’s poorly concealing a smile.

“We just had a long drive, so _yes_ , I want to lie down.”

“And you didn’t even go for a run today. Remember when you drove us for like ten hours in that shitty Jeep so we could make it to our liaison with the Resistance in time?”

Steve grins; he loves it when Bucky does remember their lives before now, and it’s happening with more frequency these days as the damage inflicted by HYDRA heals itself. “Yeah, I thought my head was going to fly off with every pothole we hit. That road to Toulouse was no joke. Even Dugan got carsick.”

“Yeah, it was gross. But I think you might just live after all. It was only the New Jersey Turnpike.”

“Just move over already, will you, smartass? I’m making _you_ drive us home, by the way.”

Bucky rolls over and onto the other side of the bed. “Fine by me. When do we have to be up at the penthouse?”

“Cocktails start at four, then dinner’s at five.”

“So…”

“So?”

“So we have plenty of time to finally christen this bed _and_ have a nap.”

Steve grins. “Yeah, I’d say we do.”

Dinner turns out to be surprisingly low-key, even though the food itself is fairly elaborate. And there’s more than even Steve and Bucky can eat, which means by default that there’s far too much of it. Steve finds that team dinners are a lot less challenging when they only involve seven people; Bruce and Betty had indeed been able to make it, and so had Natasha. Clint and Laura had invited her to their house for the holiday, but she needs to be somewhere tomorrow night and it’s more convenient to fly out of New York. Tony is clearly thrilled to be hosting, albeit tempered by Pepper’s bright and calm presence. The party breaks up close to eleven, and Steve and Bucky take the elevator back to their apartment loaded up with leftovers in the takeout containers Pepper had thought to buy so everyone could take some with them.

“We should’ve brought a cooler,” Bucky comments, trying to fit half a pecan pie into their now-overcrowded fridge.

“We don’t even _own_ a cooler.”

“I know. We should, though. I can look for one tomorrow if you want.”

“Or I can. I mean, I don’t really have anything to do. You’re the one with the plans.” Bucky and Natasha are going to the shooting range for target practice tomorrow morning, and then the three of them are supposed to have an early dinner together before her flight.

“We’ll figure it out,” Bucky says. “In the meantime, I think I’m ready for bed. You?”

“Yeah. Do you think we ate too much?”

Bucky laughs, talking over his shoulder as he makes his way to the bedroom. “Of course we did.”

“Beats the Thanksgiving we had in that old Great War trench outside Ypres, remember?”

“No,” he admits. “But I’m sure it was awful.”

“It was really, really cold. All of us had to sleep in a pile to keep from freezing to death because we couldn’t have a fire. We ate cold C-rations and you and Gabe got into an argument about cigarette hoarding. The only good part was that Jacques scrounged up a mostly full bottle of rotgut brandy.”

“That _does_ sound awful. Jesus.”

“Christmas was even worse. Peggy almost shot Dugan because he decided to be funny and play Santa.”

“And he tried to sneak in with presents, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah. Scared the _shit_ out of her. She thought it was an assassin.”

“Eh. He deserved to get shot at. Dumb thing to do, sneak up on an SSR agent.”

“There was no telling _him_ that. But Peg forgave him right away because he’d found a pair of silk stockings and Elizabeth Arden lipstick for her Christmas present.”

“I _do_ seem to remember her complaining about how hard it was to get nylons.”

“She complained about that a lot.”

“See, Steve? That’s why the two of you are such good friends. You’re both champion complainers.”

Steve smacks Bucky with a pillow. “Oh, shut up.”

Bucky smacks him back with another pillow. “Make me.”

They wind up rechristening the bed, much to their mutual delight. Having a super-soldier stamina is _awesome_ sometimes, Steve reflects as he drifts off to sleep.

But Steve wakes up the next morning feeling wrong, like he’s had an electric shock to every nerve in his body. He goes for his run as usual, but once he’s taken a shower and has eaten the breakfast sandwiches he’d picked up on his way home, he realizes that he still doesn’t feel right. Steve isn’t really sure what it is that’s bothering him, but he hopes it goes away before Bucky comes back from target practice. It’s not like the last time they were here, when he’d gotten overwhelmed by being around too many people for too long. But he feels unsettled nonetheless, sound and light intruding on him like unwelcome houseguests, even though Steve has JARVIS keep the ambient surroundings at a lower setting than usual.

He wishes Bucky hadn’t gone out and immediately feels like an asshole. Bucky’s almost always with Steve when he’s home, and he deserves time to himself too. It’s just…he really, really wants Bucky right now. Steve wants Bucky to come home and hug him tight and make a big fuss over him and tell him that everything is okay. Steve hates how selfish that is of him, and he tries to put the thought aside. But the wanting doesn’t leave despite Steve’s attempts to banish it, like a nasty little gremlin living on his shoulder and whispering a constant stream of negative thoughts directly into his ear. But he doesn’t know what to do about it, and so he doesn’t really do much of anything. Steve’s mood deepens by the minute until Bucky returns with lunch for them both in hand, and now it’s almost impossible to talk about how he feels because there’s just too much of it.

“Steve, I love you, but this is not a good look,” Bucky says sometime around three o’clock, after all his suggestions for things to do have been rebuffed by a petulant Steve.

He doesn’t mean to be such a pain in the ass, he really doesn’t. But… “So, what, I’m supposed to just put on a happy face because you don’t like it?”

“No, but I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“I’d like to believe that, but the way you’re acting suggests that there is,” Bucky says.

“I don’t _know_ what’s wrong,” Steve finally admits, albeit grouchily.

“Would it help you figure it out if you were litt—”

“ _No_ ,” he snaps.

Bucky holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Jesus. It was just a thought, Steve. And I didn’t even mean right now. I meant after dinner.”

“I’ll tell you when I want to be treated like a kid, but for now, could I just have some space, please?” At least he remembers to ask for it, instead of just acting like a jerk and giving Bucky the silent treatment.

“Sure. I’m gonna go for a walk. I’ll take my phone, so call me if you need anything,” Bucky replies mildly.

Steve regrets it as soon as Bucky disappears into the elevator and wants to call him and beg him to come back, but he doesn’t. Bucky likes taking long walks and Steve isn’t exactly fun to be around right now, so he needs to suck it up already and act like an adult. He’s _got_ to get over this before dinner, if only because Natasha will definitely notice if he’s in a shitty mood, and Steve doesn’t want to ruin their evening with it. After pacing the suite for a few minutes, he decides maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to try and distract himself, so Steve goes into his bag – the adult one that he’d packed for himself – and pulls out a coloring book full of intricate mandalas. He grabs the Prismacolor pencils for this rather than the crayons, picks an uncolored page, and gets to work.

He becomes so absorbed in working on his chosen mandala that Steve barely notices when Bucky comes back ninety minutes later. “Steve. _Steve_ ,” Bucky says, waving a hand in front of his face to get his attention.

“What?” he answers, his voice sharp at the interruption.

“It’s after 4:30 and we’re due at the ramen place in an hour. We’d better start getting ready.”

“We have time.” Steve reaches for a sea-green pencil.

“Yeah, but we also have the world’s worst time management skills,” Bucky points out, which is not untrue, “so we might as well start now.”

“In a minute. I’m almost done with this.”

“Fine. I’m gonna get a shower, then,” he says.

Steve’s still parked at the coffee table in the living room when Bucky emerges, his hair still slightly damp. “Bathroom’s free,” he announces.

“Mhm.”

“Steve, it’s almost five. Seriously, you need to go put on some actual clothes and comb your hair.”

“No I don’t.”

“You’re really gonna show up at a fancy restaurant like that?”

Steve doesn’t answer, mostly because the nasty little gremlin is back and has started yelling in his ear.

Bucky passes a hand over his face with a sigh. “Steve, please. Work with me here. I can text Natasha and tell her we’re running a few minutes late, but she has to be at LaGuardia by seven to make her flight.”

The gremlin screeches, and he wonders for a second if it is actually possible to literally blow the top of one’s head off in rage – rage at the gremlin for ruining the whole day, rage at Bucky for leaving him not once but _twice_ when Steve needed him, rage at Bucky interrupting the one thing that was helping Steve at all, rage at having to go out and pretend to be big for hours when he just did it last night.

“I don’t _want_ to!” Steve shouts.

“Steve, what the fuck? Natasha’s your friend.” Bucky looks bewildered.

He throws his colored pencil down onto the table, almost breaking it, and stands up. “I said _no_!”

“What’s all this about? I don’t understand.”

“I don’t wanna go!”

“What am I supposed to tell Natasha?”

“I don’t care what you tell her! I’m not _going_ and you can’t _make_ me!” He kicks at the sofa, sending it skidding several feet across the carpet.

“You have been a fucking pill all afternoon, Steve,” Bucky says. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but please stop yelling at me and _seriously_ don’t do violence to the furniture, it’s not even ours.”

Steve doesn’t even hear him. “No, no, no, _no!_ ” he screams.

Bucky closes the gap between them and gently lays his right hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Steve, hey, what’s going on? This isn’t like you.”

“Not going, I’m _not going_ , Daddy! No!” Steve slaps at him, smacking Daddy’s hand really, really hard.

“Ow, fuck, that _hurt_!”

Daddy’s metal hand shoots out and wraps itself his forearm faster than Steve’s reflexes can kick in. It doesn’t hurt, but it's also not loose or gentle, and Steve still tries to break free of it anyway. He shrieks in frustration when he realizes that he can’t, then changes tactics. That doesn’t work either, because Daddy grabs his elbow just enough to stop it from ramming into his stomach, and now Steve’s out of arms to use.

“That is _enough_ , Steve. You know we have a rule about no hitting.” Daddy’s voice isn’t loud, but he sounds upset.

Not upset enough for Steve to stop trying to wriggle out of Daddy’s grip, though. He knows he could do it if he just got the right leverage, he just _knows_ it.

“Steven Grant Rogers. That is a time-out."

A time-out? Steve’s never had a time-out before, even though Daddy’s threatened it about a dozen times, and he stops fighting the moment he realizes what that means. He’s being _punished_ , for the first time ever. Daddy has to half-drag him into the dining room because Steve’s too stunned to do much more than whine, which Daddy doesn’t respond to at all even though he really hates when Steve does it.

He pulls out a chair from the long table with his free hand, his face sterner than Steve’s ever seen it. “Sit.”

“Daddy, no, _please_!” Steve gasps, his eyes filling with tears.

“Steve, you’re clearly very upset right now,” Daddy says, sort of but not quite pushing him down into the chair when Steve doesn’t move to sit. Again, it doesn’t hurt, but it’s startling to see Daddy so unsmiling and know it’s because of him. “I want you to stay here and take some deep breaths until you calm down, and then we can talk about this. I’m going to call Natasha to tell her we can’t meet her. I’ll come back for you in ten minutes.”

And then he releases Steve’s arm and leaves, just like that. Daddy _leaves_. Ten whole minutes? He doesn’t even know how long that is because there isn’t a clock in here and whimpers in despair.

“Young sir,” JARVIS breaks in quietly, “I think you will indeed feel better if you do as Sergeant Barnes suggested. I will guide you through it, if that would help.”

Steve hadn’t expected this kind of help, but he doesn’t know what else to do, so he agrees, swiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his Army hoodie. “Uh-huh.”

“Breathe in, as much as you can take in. Hold it for two seconds, now breathe out—slowly. Very good, Steven. Now, again, breathe in…”

He gets so focused on breathing along with JARVIS’s instructions that he’s surprised when his ten minutes are up and Daddy comes back into the room. He stops listening to the AI and just watches Daddy, who still doesn’t look very happy. Not mad, but _definitely_ not happy.

“Time-out’s over, Steve. You can get up now,” Daddy says.

Steve’s out of his chair and into Daddy’s arms like a shot, bursting into tears immediately upon contact. Daddy holds him and rubs his back for a little while until he's calmed down some.

“I’m sorry, Daddy, I’m so sorry,” Steve whimpers, still crying a little, but at least he can talk now.

“I know you are, Stevie. It's all right,” Daddy says gently. “Let’s go and talk about it in the living room, hm?”

He makes an affirmative noise and lets Daddy lead him into the living room. Daddy puts the sofa back where it belongs in front of the coffee table without saying anything. Then they sit down and Daddy grabs a few tissues out of the box on the coffee table to wipe away the tears and snot from Steve’s face. He’s careful to not rub too hard, and when he’s done, he takes Steve’s hand in his and gives it a little squeeze.

“Do you think you could try to tell me why you’re so upset?” Daddy asks.

“Dunno what’s wrong,” he mumbles. “I just don’t feel good.”

“That’s a start. Did you feel like this when you woke up today?”

He nods.

“Did anything happen while I was gone that made it worse?”

“No…”

“Did everything feel like too much?”

“Kinda.” Steve sniffles.

“Kind of? Can you tell me what else?”

He looks down at his lap, ashamed, but Steve knows he has to tell Daddy the truth. “You were gone and I wanted you and then you were gone again and I still wanted you.”

“I see,” Daddy says softly, rubbing the back of Steve’s hand with his thumb. “Is there a reason you kept this to yourself?”

“I need you too much even when I’m big,” Steve whispers. “M’not supposed to.”

“ _What_?” Daddy sounds surprised. “Wherever did you get that idea?”

“Needed you too much before and made a lotta work for you. Making a lotta work for you now too.”

“Steve, you are not _work_. You never were.”

“Yes, I was,” Steve tells him. “You took care of me after Mama died because I was always sick. You got fired from two jobs.”

“That was seventy years ago. And I took care of you because I wanted to.”

“But now I act like even more of a baby even though I’m not sick.” Steve starts to cry again. “And I want you all the time.”

Daddy pulls him into another hug. “There’s nowhere I would rather be than with you, no matter how old you’re feeling. I loved you then and I love you just as much now, if not even more.”

“Love you too,” he replies, using his sleeve to wipe his eyes.

“I just wish you had told me this earlier,” Daddy says. “You’re allowed to want things, Stevie. I will never say no to spending time with you when you’re at home. Ever. Okay? I want to be with you as much as you want to be with me, and that is a fact, sweetheart.”

“I tried coloring to stop thinking about it,” Steve tells him.

“And then I interrupted, huh?”

“Yeah. I just…I got so _mad_.”

“I can see why that would make you feel upset,” Daddy says. “I’m sorry you’ve had such a hard time today, bug.”

“M’sorry I hurt you.”

“I forgive you.” Daddy squeezes his hand again. “But you understand why I put you in time-out, right? That wasn’t just a punishment; it was a chance for you to collect yourself. And for me to do the same thing.”

It’s his turn to be surprised. “You were in time-out too?”

“I was. I almost lost my patience, and I didn’t want to do that, so I took a few minutes and did some deep breathing too. Just like I do at home when I need to feel calm,” Daddy explains.

“Oh.” That makes sense; Daddy goes off and meditates by himself at home on a regular basis. It simply hadn’t occurred to him that Daddy would ever run out of patience with him, but in fairness, Steve _has_ acted pretty bad today. The thought makes him momentarily grouchy again. “Still didn’t like it.”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?” Daddy points out.

“You _left_ me!”

“I didn’t go anywhere, Steve, just into the bedroom to talk to Natasha. I even told you that was what I was going to do, remember?"

“But you made me sit there by myself.”

“You weren’t by yourself. JARVIS was with you. I would never go anywhere without telling you, not ever. You know that, Steve. I said I would come back in ten minutes, and I did.”

Steve’s quiet for a little while. He knows Daddy’s right and he’s just making a fuss because he’s still upset. “Was Natasha mad?”

“No, she wasn’t mad. She was sorry to miss dinner with us, but said she’d stop by next time she’s in Washington and we can go then.”

“You didn’t tell her I was bad?” His bottom lip quivers at the thought of Natasha knowing he yelled and kicked the sofa and hit Daddy.

“Oh, Stevie, you aren’t bad. You just had a bad moment, that’s all.”

Steve isn’t so sure about that. “What _did_ you tell her?”

“I wound up texting her from your phone and told her I had a panic attack and we wouldn’t be ready in time to meet her. She would have known something was up if I'd called,” Daddy says.

“Oh.” Once again, Daddy’s taken the blame to cover for Steve’s inability to stay a grown-up when he should, and he flushes with shame.

“It’s fine, Steve. I promise. She’s not mad, and I’m not mad at you either.”

“You _should_ be.”

“Well, I was, a little, but I’m not mad now. I can’t hold a bad day against you.” Daddy wraps his arms around Steve again. “How about a nice, hot bubble bath? I think it might help you relax.”

“Yes, please,” Steve says, leaning into the touch.

“How old do you think you feel right now?’ Daddy wants to know.

“Um.” He’d love to tell Daddy he’s his usual age, because he has yet to go younger like he’d asked for a few weeks ago, and Steve’s reluctant to say it. But he really, really wants to. And he can feel himself slipping downward by the moment.

Daddy must see that he’s conflicted, because he asks, “Do you think you might need to be extra little tonight?”

Steve eventually nods. “It’s okay?”

“More than okay, lovebug.” Daddy kisses his cheek. “Let’s go set out your clothes while the tub fills up.”

Daddy carries him into the bedroom and sets him on the bed, briefly disappearing into the bathroom to turn on the huge bathtub. When he comes back, he grabs the diaper bag (there’s really no better descriptor than that, up to and including “supplies”), puts it on the bed next to Steve, and starts pulling things out. First is Steve’s special blanket, making him squeal with joy as Daddy hands it to him. And then Daddy brings out a travel changing pad, baby powder, and a diaper, the kind Steve likes with teddy bears on it, setting them aside for now.

“Your kigurumi wouldn’t quite fit, so I brought your Wonder Woman t-shirt and pajama pants,” Daddy explains.

Steve doesn’t really care one way or the other, although he does like his lion onesie because it’s so warm and cozy; he’s currently too fixated on rubbing the satin edge of the blanket back and forth along his cheek. It just feels so nice, like another kind of hug, and he couldn’t explain why if he tried. Luckily, he doesn’t have to.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Daddy chuckles and starts getting Steve undressed. “Baby, you have to put down the blanket for now,” he says patiently, waiting for Steve to comply. When he doesn’t, Daddy plucks it from his hands and puts it out of his reach, draped over the headboard.

“Mine,” Steve whines, trying to reach for it anyway.

“Yes, I know. But you can’t take it with you in the bath. C’mon, Steve, it’ll be waiting for you when we come back.”

This isn’t fair, even though he knows Daddy’s right, and Steve makes it known by pushing out his bottom lip and sulking, which lasts for about as long as it takes for Daddy to set him in the tub full of sweet-smelling bubbles. Steve sinks down in the warm water until it reaches his chin, stretching all the way out and giggling when one of the bubbles tickles his nose.

“Looks like you’re feeling better already,” Daddy says from his perch on the sink counter. “How’d you like us to get some fun stuff for the bath when we get home? I thought about maybe some sailboats,” Daddy suggests. “And I saw that Crayola makes special crayons to use in the tub.”

“And a duck.”

“You want a rubber duck?”

Steve grins up at Daddy. “A yellow one.”

“I can make that happen.” Daddy grins back.

Steve spends a good long while in the tub, giving himself over to the water jets and bubbles. It’s really nice, and Daddy’s right. He _does_ feel a lot more relaxed than before and only lets Daddy help him out because he’s getting hungry and says so.

“How about some leftovers from last night? We have plenty, and then we don’t have to worry about bringing them home with us. Or waiting for delivery or for me to cook,” Daddy suggests.

“Okay!”

The food had been really good, and Pepper had given them two whole containers of mashed potatoes along with turkey and gravy and stuffing and broccoli and cornbread and green beans and cranberry sauce. Mashed potatoes are his _favorite_. Steve could eat them every day. And it won’t take long because they can just microwave it and don’t have to wait for a delivery or for Daddy to finish cooking. He’s glad for that, because Steve knows he doesn’t have it in him to wait for more than a few minutes.

Luckily, Daddy is pretty fast at rubbing the powder into his skin (always with his right hand because he says it’s too hard to properly clean it out of the metal plates in his left hand) and getting the teddy-bear diaper on him, but then, he’s had a lot of practice. He’s a little slower getting Steve dressed, but that’s because he doesn’t have as much practice with that part of it, and Steve doesn’t make it easy because he’s been reunited with his blanket and has to be persuaded to put it down just long enough for Daddy to get his shirt on. Steve starts to wiggle with impatience by the time Daddy carries him into the kitchen and sets him down at the table.

“Hungry, Daddy,” Steve informs him helpfully.

Daddy just laughs and ruffles his hair. “I know, Stevie. I’ll fix your plate first. What would you like?”

“Potatoes.”

“What else?”

“ _Lots_ of potatoes.”

“I’ll make sure you get lots, but that’s not all you’re gonna eat for dinner.” Daddy’s already pulling takeout containers from the fridge, popping open each lid to see what’s in there. “I’ll give you a little of everything.”

Steve guesses that’s okay and starts drumming his heels against the chair rung to pass the time.

“Steve, please don’t do that.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not good for the chair. It might break if you kick too hard.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Sorry, Daddy.”

Steve stills his feet and instead focuses on his blanket while the food heats up, running his thumbs along the satin. This is the best blanket he’s ever had. It’s not old and mended a dozen times and worn almost into transparency like the blankets he and his mama had slept under, or scratchy and uncomfortable like the wool blanket he’d carried in his army gear. This one is soft, it’s warm, it’s new, and it has only good textures, smooth and cool on the outside edges and fluffy the rest of the way through, and it’s _his_. And Daddy had bought it for him, which makes it extra special. He’d sleep with it when he’s big if he thought it wouldn’t make him look silly.

Daddy cuts up Steve’s turkey and green beans while his own food microwaves, then brings their plates over to the table, two by two. “It’s still pretty hot, so be careful,” he warns as he takes his seat across from Steve.

He is, because even though burned tongues heal pretty fast for him, they still aren’t fun. Daddy has to remind him to drink some ice water now and again, which is good because Steve forgets about that sometimes. The food is just as good as it was last night, and he finishes before Daddy does. So Steve waits – patiently, now that he’s not hungry anymore.

“What would you like to do tonight?” Daddy asks, using a napkin to get Steve’s mouth and hands clean once he’s done eating. “We could watch a movie or go look in your bag for an activity.”

“Like what?”

“I brought you something fun to do. A _new_ something.”

Steve’s definitely got to find out what that is now. It’s too interesting to ignore, and he wonders what Daddy had brought along for him, so it’s no contest. He can watch a movie anytime. “Activity.”

“I thought so.” Daddy smiles. “Come help me load the dishwasher and you can find out what they are.”

For once, he doesn’t complain about the dishes because the faster he helps Daddy with them, the faster he can find out what Daddy’s put in his bag. “Up?” Steve asks even as Daddy’s still closing the dishwasher.

“Up you go,” he agrees, and lifts Steve onto his hip.

Steve’s really glad he decided to be extra little tonight, because he loves it when Daddy carries him. It makes him feel small in a way nobody else does, except maybe Thor. And Thor is very nice, but he’s no Daddy. Steve would ask to be carried more often, but he’s hesitant when he’s trying to be a bigger boy because he isn’t supposed to need it. But he isn’t trying to be bigger tonight.

Daddy tosses him onto the bed – literally tosses him – so that Steve lands on the mattress with a little _oomph_ and starts laughing. That’s another thing he loves because it makes him feel small. Mr. Barnes had done that to them both when they were young and Steve would sleep over, making them shriek with laughter. And to Rebecca and Rachel, too, even though it’d made Rachel’s glasses slide right off her nose every time. He’d loved Mr. Barnes, who never treated Steve like an invalid and told silly jokes and played ragtime on the piano and took them to movies or on long walks or to the park and slipped them penny candy when Mrs. Barnes wasn’t looking. Daddy’s a lot like him, and not just when they’re playing like this, but he doesn’t know that. Steve should tell him when he’s big again.

Once he stops giggling, he rearranges his blanket to look into the bag without it getting in the way, first coming up with a pacifier, which goes right into his pocket, and then he sees them: two boxes full of brand-new Matchbox cars. They’re _amazing,_ different models painted in bright colors and all ready for playing with. And not all of them are cars, either! There’s a helicopter and an ambulance and a steamroller and a jet-ski too.

Steve’s gonna crash them into _so many things_.

“You like them?” Daddy asks.

“ _Love_ them. Thank you, Daddy!”

“You’re very welcome. Want to give them a spin?”

Steve nods, and Daddy picks him up again. He keeps a good grip on the boxes until he’s set down on the living room carpet, sitting crisscross-applesauce to tear into them. Daddy sits on the sofa and puts on the evening news, which is boring and therefore easy to ignore while Steve tests out the cars, pacifier firmly in place where it belongs and humming occasionally. They’re really cool and go really fast when he sets them in motion, and he spends quite a while making them crash into each other and the wall and the coffee table while Daddy watches the news and then a _Brooklyn Nine-Nine_ rerun that they’ve already seen.

It occurs to Steve sometime around the third commercial break that he has to pee, and he momentarily panics because when he’s little and has to go, he has to go _now_. And then he remembers that he doesn’t have to worry about that tonight. It’s kind of a relief not having to try and make it to the potty in time; he’s not very good at it when he’s little anyway, always waiting way too long because he doesn’t want to have to stop what he’s doing and then winding up wet by the time he gets to the bathroom. It also feels sorta good to let go in a diaper, which makes him want to squirm with guilt for liking to do something so weird and icky. But Steve pushes that out of his head and keeps playing until Daddy calls over and asks if he wants to watch a show before they get ready for bed.

“ _Adventure Time_?” he asks, because that show’s really short, so they can watch a lot at once.

“Sure, that sounds good. Can you put your cars into this bag?” Daddy leans over and hands him a gallon-sized Ziploc bag with a slider on top that he must have gotten from the kitchen when he went for a glass of water a little while ago. “I don’t want us to forget any.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Steve takes the bag and gets to work, counting as he does to make sure they’re all inside.

“Thank you for listening so nicely, Stevie. I’ll get you a better container to keep those in once we get home,” Daddy says, with that look that means he’s got an idea but won’t say more right now.

Steve beams. It always makes him feel warm inside when Daddy thanks him or tells him he’s good, no matter how many times he hears it.

“Come and sit down, then.” Daddy pats the sofa cushion next to him.

Steve obeys the request, but he sits on Daddy’s lap instead because he likes it better than the sofa, flopping down maybe just a little too hard by mistake.

“Oof, kiddo, you oughta warn me before you do something like that.” But Daddy doesn’t sound mad and wraps his arms around Steve’s waist, attacking him with a flurry of kisses to the cheek and making him laugh and try to wriggle away because Daddy’s beard tickles.

“ _Adventure Time_ now? Please?”

“Yes, but I think you need a change first.”

Steve shakes his head. He really just wants to watch TV in Daddy’s warm, comfortable lap.

“You’re pretty squishy, lovebug.”

 Steve shakes his head again, a little more forcefully now. “ _Adventure Time_.”

“Nope,” Daddy says cheerfully, “not ‘til you’re dry.”

He makes a face.

“No pouting, Stevie. It’ll only take a minute.”

Daddy’s already scooping him up to carry him into the bedroom, and because Steve knows he’s not going to win this argument, he complies. Although he _might_ just go a tiny bit limp to make himself harder to carry, which Daddy clearly notices but doesn’t say anything about. He does, however, get Steve changed in record time, making him giggle by narrating the process in a silly voice.

“See? That wasn’t so bad after all,” Daddy says as he carries Steve back into the living room.

He guesses maybe it wasn’t, and he settles into Daddy’s lap as JARVIS sets up the TV show for them. Daddy rocks him for a little while as they watch, which Steve loves. His mama had done that for him until he was too big for it – not that Steve had gotten all that big before the serum, but she’d been a petite woman, birdlike even before the TB. He still misses her a lot, but he has Daddy to love him and take care of him, and that helps.

Steve must doze off at some point, because he wakes up to find that Daddy’s putting him down on the bed, which has the covers turned back. He’s too sleepy for words but whines in protest anyway.

“No, baby, it’s bedtime,” Daddy says, tucking Steve’s blanket around him. “You’ve had a tough day and need to get some rest. And I do too, since I’m driving us home tomorrow morning.”

Well, at least he isn’t going to sleep all by himself. Steve doesn’t really like that, little or big. It doesn’t feel safe. Naps are okay because they’re in the daytime, and Daddy usually does lie down with him until he falls asleep, but it’s so much worse in the dark. He’s glad that Daddy immediately cuddles with him after joining Steve in bed, because that _does_ feel safe, and soon Steve’s asleep for good.

He wakes up the next morning feeling a lot better than yesterday, but he’s wet and it’s gotten all cold and icky and he doesn’t like that at all. Daddy isn’t awake yet, though, and Steve thinks about maybe going into the bathroom and taking care of it himself, but he doesn’t feel like a grown-up yet and it’s more complicated than he can handle without getting frustrated. So he asks JARVIS to put on Looney Tunes for the time being.

Steve’s only been watching Bugs Bunny sing opera for a few minutes when Daddy wakes up, blinking against the morning sunlight and propping himself up on one elbow, yawning.

“Hi, Daddy,” Steve says brightly.

“Hi, bug. Did you sleep okay?” Daddy smiles sleepily at him.

“Uh-huh.”

“No bad dreams?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Good, me neither. You feeling better than yesterday?”

“Yeah.” Steve scoots over, and Daddy sits up and pulls him into his lap for a warm hug.

“I’m glad to hear that, Stevie. Would you rather have breakfast here or go out?”

He thinks about it for a moment or two, weighing the options against each other. “Do I have to be big?”

“Not if you don’t want to be.”

“Don’t want anyone to see.”

“How about we walk to the deli around the corner and just pick something up? We can eat it here and nobody will bother us.”

Steve nods. “Okay.”

Daddy gives him a little squeeze. “After we have breakfast, we can pack up and get going, how’s that sound?”

“Good.”

“Not feeling like too many words today, are you?”

“No.”

“Think you might want to be extra-little again?”

“Can I?”

“Sure you can. But you’re gonna have to walk with me.”

“All day?”

Daddy laughs softly. “Just to the deli and back, and I’ll need your help taking our bags down to the car and then into the house. Think you can help me with that? I can carry you as much as you want when we get home.”

“I can do it, Daddy.”

“That’s my good boy.” Daddy smooches him on the cheek, then surprises Steve by slipping a finger into the waistband of Steve’s diaper to check him.

He lets out a squeak of astonishment and automatically tries to wriggle away. “Daddy!”

“Well, one of us has to be responsible for keeping you dry, Stevie, and you’re soaked.”

“ _Mmph._ ”

“Sorry, baby.” Daddy does not sound sorry. He sounds like he’s trying not to laugh. “Let’s get you changed and dressed; then I’ll hop in the shower and we can go get something to eat.”

“Bagels?” Steve, as always, is distracted by the thought of food.

“Bagels.” Daddy surprises him again when he blows a raspberry on Steve’s tummy after finishing his diaper change, and he squeals with delight. “You want to wear your blue shirt or your green shirt today?”

“Blue.”

It’s not often that Steve wants to go anywhere at all when he’s feeling little, but today it feels okay because it isn’t going to take a long time, he decides, keeping his hand tightly laced with Daddy’s as they walk. It’s his left hand, so Steve can squeeze as much as he needs without hurting him. They don’t run into anyone they know or anyone who recognizes them, and the streets aren’t so crowded because it’s still early. But the deli is surprisingly busy, and it’s good that they get their food when they do because it’s starting to make him nervous. Steve’s wearing one of Daddy’s baggier hoodies over his t-shirt, but that doesn’t make him anonymous forever.

He’s relieved when they’re back on the street, and it must show on his face, because while they’re waiting at the crosswalk, Daddy gently bumps his shoulder into Steve’s to get his attention. He says in a voice nobody else can hear, “You did really well in there, Stevie.”

Steve doesn’t think so, and he says as much.

“I know that crowded places can be hard for you sometimes, and you were very brave just now.”

Funny how it means so much more to hear that when he’s little than when Steve’s actually been in several dozen extremely scary situations as a grown-up, and he bumps Daddy’s shoulder back. “I had you to help me.”

Daddy flashes him a smile that lights up his whole face and, for just a moment, it makes him look like he used to, before the army told him to show up for basic training at Camp Lehigh the summer after Pearl Harbor. “What would I do without my good boy, huh?”

Steve grins. “Not step on so many Legos an’ say bad words.”

Once they’re done eating their bagels (Steve has five and Daddy has two, and they are _delicious_ , worth going outside for), Daddy does one last sweep of the apartment, coming up with a toothbrush they’d missed while packing up. Then he makes sure Steve is still dry before using the bathroom himself and grabs a couple of bottles of water from the fridge to take with them. They’d eaten all the leftovers last night, so there isn’t as much to take home as Steve had thought there might be.

“I’ve got your phone and our charging cords in my suitcase,” Daddy tells him, picking up his suitcase and the diaper bag. “Do you have everything you need?”

Steve pats the pacifier in his hoodie pocket. His blanket’s folded up and slung over his shoulder, and he’s got his own suitcase. And he’s double-checked to make sure they hadn’t left behind any colored pencils or Matchbox cars. “Ready, Daddy. Can I pick the radio station?”

“Sure, why not?”

Last time, Steve had waited until they’d gotten out of Manhattan to settle in with his blanket. This time, he barely makes it out of the garage under Avengers Tower before he unfolds it and tucks it around himself, and the pacifier soon finds its way out of his pocket and into his mouth. Steve fiddles around with the satellite radio for a while, because Daddy’s too busy driving and swearing under his breath at the other drivers to tell him to stop messing with it and pick something.

“Daddy?” he asks around the pacifier as they exit the Holland Tunnel.

“Hmm?” Daddy replies absently, punctuating it with a strategic deployment of his middle finger at a Camry that keeps drifting out of its lane and into theirs.

“Can I play with my cars when we get home?”

“Yes, you may. But you might also want to see what else I bought for you.”

“There’s more?” Steve almost loses his paci, catching it just in time before it hits the floor.

“Of course there’s more.” Daddy smiles.

“What’d you get me, Daddy?”

“Some fun stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Stuff like I think you’ll have to wait and see, lovebug. We’ll be home soon enough.”

“M’ _very_ little today,” Steve informs him, like Daddy doesn’t already know that. “I can’t wait long.”

“You can’t wait for long for most anything, no matter what age you are, Stevie.” Daddy reaches over and ruffles his hair.

“I’m almost two and a half,” he says immediately. Steve’s had some time to think about it, even as an adult. _Especially_ as an adult. Long meetings are so boring and he has to sit through _so many_ of them, even though most of the time nobody asks his opinion. He’s just there to make other people look good, and they don’t own Steve’s daydreams, at least not yet.

“Oh, are you? Good to know. It’s nice to see you so relaxed, Stevie. Maybe we should have you be almost two and a half more often.”

Steve guesses that he is pretty relaxed, even if he is on the New Jersey Turnpike. It’s like his nervousness this morning happened a long time ago. “I like being littler,” he says, even though he hadn’t planned to.

“Do you think it helps more?”

“Yeah.” Steve tips his head back against the headrest, wishing he had his bear to hold onto while Daddy drives. “Easier.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Steve can see Daddy’s smile out of the corner of his eye. “And it helps that you’re so cute.”

Steve goes pink. He doesn’t really like thinking about how he must look when he’s little. “Am not.”

“You are, though.”

“Not _cute_.”

“Okay, sunshine, whatever you say,” Daddy replies agreeably. “Did you ever find a station for us to listen to?”

“Nope.”

“Still want to pick one?”

“Nope.” Steve’s had enough of playing with the radio for now. He just wants to watch the scenery go by and suck on his pacifier some more until they get home and he can find out what Daddy’s surprise for him is.

“Mind if I pick one?”

“Nope.”

Daddy doesn’t fiddle around with the radio too much the way Steve did, and without taking his eyes off the road he settles on the station that plays old radio shows from when they were kids — Charlie McCarthy, Jack Benny, Fibber McGee and Molly, Eddie Cantor, George Burns and Gracie Allen, all that stuff. It’s not much of a surprise because that’s usually what they listen to when they’re in the car for more than a few minutes, but Steve’s still delighted by the choice. It’s as familiar and cozy as his blanket, making him think of nights they spent huddled in the sofa-cushion fort, listening to _The Shadow_ with breathless anticipation, then dissecting the episode moment by moment afterward to try and figure out what would happen next week.

It’s a pleasant few hours spent that way, watching the world go by as Steve listens, and every so often Daddy reaches over and pats his thigh or gives his shoulder a little squeeze, his way of checking to make sure everything is okay. And it is, until Steve has to pee. They haven’t even gotten to Baltimore yet and he knows Daddy won’t wait for them to get home before changing him, because he doesn’t like Steve being wet for long. However, Steve likes the idea of having his diaper changed in a public bathroom even less. So he decides to hold it, even though he’s extra-little today and doesn’t really want to. He’s glad his hands are already under the blanket, because it means Steve can hold himself without being too suspicious about it if he needs to.

Daddy doesn’t even notice until Steve starts fidgeting a little while later. He doesn’t _mean_ to, but they’re still more than an hour away from home and he has to go pretty bad but he can’t do that, and this helps distract him somewhat.

“Stevie, what’s wrong?” Daddy asks him.

“Nothin’.” Steve presses the palm of his hand against the front of his diaper, hoping to hold it a while longer.

“You sure? You look worried.”

He shakes his head, looking away because if he looks at Daddy right now, he’ll _know_ that Steve’s gotta go. And, in fact, is already kinda going. Not a lot, but he’s dribbling and that means soon he’s gonna be going for real and he won’t be able to stop it.

“Bug. Please talk to me. I know you don’t want to use too many words today, but I need to know what’s going on.”

“Gotta _go_ ,” he blurts out, because he can’t lie to Daddy.

“Then go, Steve. It’s okay, you know that.” Daddy sounds confused.

“No! Tryna hold it.”

“Why are you trying to do that?”

Just as Steve’s about to answer him, his overworked bladder gives out and he pees so hard that he can actually hear it hitting the padding inside his diaper. And because Daddy’s senses are also enhanced, Steve knows that he can hear it, too, and he whimpers, covering his eyes with his hands and feeling his face go hot with embarrassment.

“Hey, shh,” Daddy says softly. “You’re okay.”

Steve shakes his head frantically.

“Why not?”

“Don’t wanna change yet,” he explains, starting to shiver as he thinks about having to walk by a lot of people and then maybe one of them noticing them in the same bathroom stall.

“Wha— _oh_.” Daddy inhales sharply as he seems to finally understand. “I know that you’re worried about people seeing us, but we are gonna need to make a stop.”

“No, Daddy! Please!” 

“Steve, I need a bathroom break too, and you can’t stay wet until we get home. It’s not good for you.”

“No!” Steve wails, wrapping his blanket around himself even tighter and scrunching himself down in his seat as he realizes Daddy’s already exiting the highway.

“I’m sorry you’re upset,” Daddy says calmly. “But we need to do this.”

Steve bursts into tears, but Daddy keeps driving anyway, and he cries until they’re parked around the side of a mostly empty McDonald’s. Then he cries some more when Daddy tells him he can’t bring his paci or his blanket inside with them, even though he already knows he can’t.

“Steve, come on. This will only take a few minutes. It’s not the end of the world,” Daddy tells him as he’s rubbing Steve’s back to try and calm him down.

Steve wails again, wordlessly, burying his face in Daddy’s shoulder. Why doesn’t he _get it_?

Daddy sighs. “Please, baby. I need you to help me out here.”

 “I _can’t_.”

“Yes, you can. You’re my brave boy, remember? I’m going to give you two choices, okay? First choice is that you stay here while I go to the potty inside, and then I change you in the backseat.”

Steve gasps at the very thought. “No!”

“Then your second choice is that we both go inside.”

Both of those sound awful and terrifying, but at least inside is inside. Steve holds up two fingers for Daddy to see.

“I think that was the right choice,” Daddy says and lets go. “Paci, please.” He holds out his hand.

Steve sniffles but gives it to him.

“Blanket,” Daddy reminds him and unbuckles Steve’s seatbelt for him. “You don’t have to fold it, but you need to put it on the seat.”

He takes a tissue out of the box in the center console and uses it to dry Steve’s face. Steve takes his time getting out of the car and rolling up the blanket so it isn’t hanging onto the floor while Daddy goes into the trunk for the diaper bag. At least it doesn’t _look_ like one. It could be anything at all. Too bad that doesn’t make Steve feel a lot better.

Daddy leads him to the side entrance, and as they get closer, Steve can see through the windows that nobody is sitting in that part of the restaurant. That helps some. And the bathroom is built for only one person at a time, so they don’t have to share the space with anyone. Daddy gets him changed standing up after using the potty himself – another reminder of Steve’s failure – and calls Steve his good boy, giving him a fierce hug. That _does_ makes Steve feel a lot better. And there’s still nobody sitting at any of the tables as they make their way to the exit after a thorough hand-washing.

He’s still glad to get back into the car and burrow underneath his blanket after Daddy buckles him in again, where it’s warm and safe.

“We did all that in under five minutes,” Daddy tells him, handing Steve his paci.

Steve pops it in his mouth and closes his eyes in relief as he sucks at it a few times. “Scary,” he informs Daddy, the paci’s presence giving him back the slight lisp he’d had as a real child.

“I know it was.” Daddy leans over and kisses his cheek. “But it all turned out okay, didn’t it?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m sorry you were scared. But you know what?”

“What?”

“Now you won’t be so scared of it the next time.”

Oh, no. Steve hadn’t thought about that. “Don’t _wanna_ next time.”

“We’ll certainly try to avoid it if we can,” Daddy says, backing out of the parking space. “And look at how brave you were! You did something new today even though you were scared, and you did it _twice_.”

“Didn’t like.”

“Sorry, baby. I know it wasn’t fun. But you still did it! And you were so good, listening and following directions.”

Steve just _hmph_ s and settles in for a good pout, which doesn’t last very long because Jack Benny comes on the radio, and he’s funny, and that always puts Steve in a good mood. Except…

“M’hungry, Daddy,” he says.

“I put some of your protein bars in the center console.” Daddy means the special ones that are made just for him, because the regular kind don’t keep him full for more than five minutes. “If you can open it up and get one out, I’ll get the wrapper started for you.”

He perks up at the knowledge that there are snacks within easy reach, but Steve doesn’t think that letting Daddy start the wrapper sounds like a very good idea, because he’s driving. He can do it one-handed – Steve’s seen him do it before – but it’s just plastic and Steve can manage that. “I do it.”

“Okay, go ahead, then. Just one, though,” Daddy cautions him. “I know it’ll be later than usual, but we’re having lunch when we get home.”

“What’s lunch?”

Daddy laughs. “I have no idea. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?”

“With chips?” Steve asks hopefully, through a mouthful of protein bar, twirling his pacifier on the end of one finger.

“We’ll see.” That usually means no. “And please don’t talk with your mouth full, bug, it’s not polite.”

“Sorry,” he answers after making sure to swallow.

“It’s okay, Steve. How about some snap peas and carrots on the side with that spicy hummus you like?”

He nods. “And apples?” They still have a ridiculous amount leftover from all their picking excursions earlier in the fall – mostly Steve’s doing. He’s always enjoyed a good crunchy apple.

“Why not? I thought I would make some spinach roll-ups for dinner.” Daddy glances over. “Would you like to help me with that?”

He nods enthusiastically. Steve loves Daddy’s spinach roll-ups – boiled lasagna noodles coated with a thin layer of ricotta with roasted garlic and spinach mixed in, then rolled up into spirals and baked with tomato sauce and some mozzarella on top, served with plenty of garlic bread and a big garden salad.

Daddy smiles at him. “You’re a good helper, Stevie. It’s fun to cook with you.”

Steve smiles back. “I like it too.”

“How about some help with the dishes after?” Daddy asks, teasing because he knows what the answer will be.

Steve pretends not to hear him, humming along to an old Hydrox cookie commercial on the radio instead.

Daddy laughs and reaches over to ruffle Steve’s hair and make it stick up everywhere like a hedgehog.

The last hour of their trip doesn’t take all that long, even though there’s the usual slow-down on the Capital Beltway, and Steve is more than happy to help Daddy carry their bags inside their building because it means they’re _home_. As soon as they get inside the apartment, all the lingering tension in Steve’s shoulders has drained away. Daddy decides that they’ll have lunch before they unpack, and because the protein bar is already wearing off, Steve thinks that’s a _great_ idea.

An hour later, Daddy shuts his dresser drawer, now finished putting away everything they’d taken to New York, except the diaper bag. (That’s stayed packed, except for the pajamas Steve had worn to bed last night, and Daddy’s tucked it under their bed for the time being until they can figure out a better place to keep it.) “So, do you think you’d like to see the fun stuff I got you?” he asks.

Steve’s sitting on the bed, his blanket wrapped around him like a cape. He’d forgotten all about Daddy’s surprise and lights up immediately. “What is it?”

“You’ll have to find out when you open it.” Daddy smiles. “Go out to the living room and I’ll meet you there in just a minute, okay?”

“Okay!” Steve’s up like a shot.

Daddy comes in a few seconds later with a big box – Steve has no idea where he’d kept it until now – that he sets on Steve’s lap. The packing tape has already been cut, but the top flaps are folded in a way that keeps everything from sight until Steve pulls them apart. Inside, he finds two boxes of big, primary-colored plastic bricks, sort of like scaled-up Legos, but that’s not all. Next, Steve finds the dinosaurs: a T. Rex, a velociraptor, a stegosaurus, a pterodactyl, and a triceratops, all with limbs that move so he can pose them. They’re also really big, each one at least one foot high or long.

“Thank you!” he breathes to Daddy, who’s sitting next to him now, and Steve flings his arms around him.

“You’re welcome, sunshine,” Daddy answers, hugging him back. “Glad you like them.”

“I _love_ them.”

“You know they make noise, right?”

“What?”

Daddy picks up the T. rex and shows him a button at the back of its head. “Push that.”

Steve does. The T. rex makes the _loudest_ roar, way louder than he’d anticipated, and it is _awesome_. He giggles at the sound and presses the button a second time to hear it again. It’s still awesome. “Can I play?”

“That’s the idea.” Daddy squeezes him. “Go ahead, Stevie.”

Steve doesn’t need to be told twice; he slithers right out of Daddy’s hug and onto the floor next to the sofa, upending the big box so everything hits the carpet at the same time. And then he gets to work; towers won’t build themselves, after all, and Steve’s got to build them if he wants to give the dinosaurs a city to fight in. Daddy puts on the TV to a cooking show, which is easy for Steve to ignore. What’s the point in watching people make food you can’t eat?

He comes to realize quickly that he can’t hold all the dinosaurs at once and make them roar or fight, so Steve sits up a little straighter to poke his head over the arm of the sofa. “Daddy?”

Daddy wiggles his toes at him. “Yeah, baby?”

“You play too?”

“Do you want me to?”

Steve nods. “Need more hands.”

“Is that all I am to you?” But Daddy’s laughing as he swings his legs over the side and makes his way down to sit next to Steve.

“No, _there_.” Steve points at the short row of buildings a couple of feet away where he’d arranged them.

 “There?” Daddy scoots over so he’s facing Steve now.

“Uh-huh.” Steve gives Daddy the stegosaurus and velociraptor.

“What game are we playing?”

“Fight,” he explains.

“And the skyscrapers you’ve got here?”

“They fall down.”

“Because the dinos make them fall down?”

Steve beams at Daddy for getting it right and presses the button on his triceratops, signaling the first wave of attack.

The living room is a total mess by the time the last tower comes down, falling into pieces when the T. rex and the stegosaurus battle it out. Blocks are scattered everywhere, the pterodactyl has somehow landed on the dining room table, and the coffee table has been shoved aside to make way for the T. rex to stomp on fallen bricks while roaring at and trying to eat everyone and everything in his path, including innocent bystanders (a magazine with actors from a new horror movie on the cover, Daddy’s idea).

“Play again?” Steve wants to know, a little breathless from giggling so much.

Daddy looks over at the cable box to check the time, still smiling really big. “We can play again, but let’s get dinner ready first, okay? That way we can just put it in the oven when we want to eat.”

He nods. That sounds okay, even though he doesn’t _really_ want to stop playing right now. But Steve knows that it’s better this way, because he also doesn’t really want to wait to eat more than he has to when he’s hungry later. “Up?” he asks, hoping Daddy will carry him.

“Sure, kiddo.” Daddy gets to his feet and then bends down to scoop Steve into his arms, planting a noisy smooch on his cheek once Steve’s settled on his hip. “It’ll go faster with you helping me.”

It won’t, because Steve isn’t a good cook even though he likes helping sometimes, but Daddy’s nice to say that anyway. “And then dinosaurs,” he reminds Daddy, like Daddy would have forgotten already.

Daddy smooches him again. “And then dinosaurs.”

Steve roars, Daddy roars back, and their laughter follows them all the way into the kitchen.


End file.
